A people hard pressed
to make anything of merit
from a scruffy wilderness
somehow out of childlike spirit
tempered by wind and wave
painted themselves willy-nilly
from gunnel to architrave
with a spontaneous spilling
of color; a new kind of Rococo
purified by the iceberg air
of a stiff nor-western blow.
It was a better lustre ware
made of capelin and comedy
fired in God’s perfect kiln of the sea.
Sure Skipper, I’ll take ya troutin’
Sure skipper, I’ll take ya troutin’
in over da goobity;
traipse rubbery bogs an’ barrens
w’ere da little people be.
A bamboo pole an’ a bobber
wit’ a can a worms is da gear.
Wear long rubber boots an’ Deet fer da nippers;
dey grows big as bats down ‘ere.
Now don’t be scared a da Presence
w’en walking in dese woods.
Like dere’s somebody always watchin’ ya
Don’t know if it’s bad or good.
But once when it was duckish
I ‘eard an awful screech
in da junipers hung wit’ old man’s beard.
Dis place ‘as its mysteries.
Now it’s calm in at da beaver pond
that we will wade around
casting a line to da dimpling fish
an’ jiggin’ when da bobber goes down.
Wit’ luck we’ll catch a skiver a trout
wit’out gettin’ lost or worse.
I don’t believe da fairies will mind
or put we under a curse
Rod Stone’s artistic statement: I want to thank the members of the Brooklin Poetry Society for helping me improve my craft. Reading widely in the poetic canon has also helped me develop a sense of taste in poetry. Some of my favourites are the French Symbolists, W.B. Yeats and great modern poets like Philip Larkin and Elizabeth Bishop. Reading and writing poetry has been one of the joys of my life because as Mallarmé said “beauty has only one perfect expression, Poetry”. You can visit me at www.rodspoetryblog.wordpress.com.